Deafening Silence
by TheDanaDobreAKAToshiroLover
Summary: Sometimes, Near can't do it alone. Sometimes, he needs others to hear his story, however twisted and malformed it may be. AU. Now a collection of one-shots.
1. Cards

**Deafening Silence**

**...**

The other children always saw me as the unemotional number one of Wammy's. The one who achieved perfects on everything assignment, quiz, and test, without even trying. To them, I was the one who beat Mello every single time. Mello did not see me as human, and I had agreed.

I saw myself as an advanced artificial intelligence, incapable of emotions. I soaked in information because it was what I was made for. I gave answers and solved problems when asked. I learnt from long past mistakes which were hardwired into my memory, for me never to forget. I had thought I was the exception. The only thing I truly took joy from were the toys I had grown fond of ever since I came to Wammy's. My love of toys had been hardwired into my brain long before it had turned into a computer, a time that was clearly vivid and still evoked hesitant emotions in my core.

With toys, I could imagine. I could be creative. Others would ask why, why did I bother? My answer is clear and easy to understood, perfectly logical to me. It's because toys are so devastatingly _simple_.

I find advanced toys like Matt's video games extremely unappealing. A simple toy like say, some playing cards, can easily cure the overwhelming boredom I posses whenever I am left to my own devices. There are many ways one can go with playing some playing cards. One can build. I usually find myself building large castles with intricate patterns. Like people, simple toys can be manipulated and stacked upon to achieve greatness and beauty. But if even one card falls, then the entire thing goes to ruin.

I quickly found myself pondering why that was. Why couldn't the other cards, or people, stand tall and strong? Why couldn't they bear the increased weight without falling? Were they simply too weak or was that one card the final straw? Then again, many people in a structure meant they had less responsibility, therefore, more weak. Having just one person in a structure…

I could not see it. A card could not simply stand on its edge with absolutely no support from other cards. It defied everything. Then again, if it had perfect balance, it could stand tall. It, however, would be extremely weak. One gentle breeze could knock it down.

That is, unless it could make its own supports.

Playing cards, of course, could not do this. They were mere objects. They would have to manipulated by some outer force in able to do such a thing. But people. Living, breathing human beings could cast aside companionship and emotion so they made their own supports, totally independent. They had no supports themselves but could easily support many others. I had thought that L had reached this level. It was one of the main reasons why I had secretly admired the way he did things. Cut-off from the world. Completely secret. I saw L as a loser when he had died. He had allowed himself rely to on others, making him weak. He had failed the game, he had lost the race. I, too, had failed the game. I, too, had lost the race. But it was in a different, distinctive way.

I had been foolish to cast aside others, using them only as tools. I refused to allow others to support me, thinking it would be best. I had been foolish to let my thoughts blind me the way I did. I thought that I had locked away all emotions and characteristics, making me a blank slate, but really I had released the worst emotion possible in my line of work. Pride. Pride could easily kill those foolish, like I, that thought they could do all. You cannot simply lock things up and throw away the key. My ponderings were for naught, only causing me more grief, because when the time came that I finally submitted to calling for help…

There was a _**deafening silence**_.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN): **_Alright, this is but a little snippet of an idea I've had roaming in my head for quite some time now. I probably wont be writing more, since this is technically supposed to be a one-shot, but I might continue it if I get enough response. I only made this to get the damn idea out of my head so I could continue with my other stories._

_Hope you enjoyed!_


	2. Monster

**Monster**

**...  
><strong>

"There are… many types of monsters in this world. Monsters who will not show themselves and who cause trouble. Monsters who abduct children. Monsters who devour dreams. Monsters who suck blood. And monsters who always tell lies. Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters." Near glanced up from his toys, suddenly curious.

"They pose as humans, though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat though they've never experienced hunger. They study, even though they have no interest in academics. They seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it, because in truth… _I_ am that monster."

Near glanced down, examining his puzzle once more. It appeared he and L were very much alike. L, however, was able to explain exactly how he felt. Near was no human. He's never been hungry, or actually studied, for that matter. Near, though, did not seek friendship. He did not require friendship.

But L had labeled himself as a monster.

Did that mean he was a monster as well?

…

"Near?" L's voiced called from the computer. He glanced up, noticing the room had emptied. Standing up, he walked to the door, abandoning his toys on the floor.

Near paused at the door, turning to face the desk with the computer once again.

"L…" he started.

"Yes, Near?" L asked.

"You are no more a monster than I am." He replied, turning on his heel.

"You are no monster." L argued. Near could hear the frown in his voice.

"Exactly." Near said quietly, standing for a moment at the door before closing it behind him, unaware that this would be the last he would see of the detective.

Roger, who was still sitting next to the laptop, shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm not a monster?" L asked quietly, sounding surprised.

"Maybe you should listen to the boy, L." Roger suggested, "He doesn't believe you're a monster, and neither does anyone else."

_Silence._

"I still do not see it…" L mumbled.

"Then prove to yourself that you're not a monster." Roger replied.

"Yes… I'll try." L answered thoughtfully. Roger smiled into the webcam.

"Goodbye, L." he said, "Good luck to your case."

"Goodbye… and thank you." He replied, cutting off the transmission. L took a sip of his sugary tea and tapped the spoon against his lip thoughtfully.

How was he to prove to himself he wasn't a monster?

_Perhaps…_

* * *

><p><strong>(AN): **_I made this at like 3 am, so try not to flame. Thought about making another chapter of this, though instead of this being a one-shot it's now a _collection_ of one-shots. I don't know why, but it makes it sound so much more sophisticated... in my opinion. No, it's not _just _an one-shot, it's a _collection_ of one-shots. _

_Near unknowingly influenced L into depending on others. Hooray for the irony!_


	3. Eyes

**Eyes**

**…**

Suddenly, he was alive. His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to lessen the pain that was light. His lungs refused to function properly, and felt as if they were clogged. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong-

_He wasn't ready._

That's all he knew. His cries of anguish and fear were choked by warm liquid rushing down his throat. His arms and legs kicked widely, trying desperately to fight the invisible enemy that had disturbed his sleep.

_He wasn't ready._

Something warm patted his back, and something cold brushed something in the back of his mouth. His body began to instinctively gag, and the liquid made its way out of his body, leaving an acidic taste on the tip of his tongue. The breath he'd had to hold released, and the oxygen calmed his frantic spasms. His cries finally tore their way out, shooting daggers into his head as the shrill noise burrowed through his ears.

_No, no, too soon, not yet!_

He could feel as he was passed back and forth, warm things –hands, they were hands!- touching his small, exhausted body. His cries abruptly stopped as the bright lights were suddenly bearable. Tentatively, he opened his eyes and saw something he didn't recognize. A bright color was covering the bottom half of a piece of flesh, and above the color were two spots –circles?- of white, with a circle of color in each. He gazed curiously at the strange creature. What was it called?

…

Strange sounds made its way to his ears, but he couldn't understand it. What were these strange sounds the creatures were making? What it a way to communicate? Why couldn't he understand it? A soft, warm feeling embraced him as something restrained his movement. He almost began to cry, but then, he saw her.

_Mother!_

An overwhelming feeling rushed over him as he stared at her. The color that was on the flesh that was holding him was absent on her, and so he was surprised to see not the entire creature looked that way. As the hands that were holding him brought him closer, he smiled and laughed, desperately reaching his way towards his _mother._ The most beautiful creature he'd ever seen was holding _him._ She brought him close to her wonderful face, and felt her sweet, sweet breath on his own.

_Perfect._

She was his mother. The one who'd made him. The one who'd carried him for nine months. He'd seen it all. He'd heard her silky, warm voice inside her womb. He'd heard a different voice, one that was deeper, whisper sweet nothings to him as well. Where was the man? Where was his father? Where was he?

"_Nate. Nate River."_

His breathing hitched. That was his name. Nate River. He'd recognized it instantly. His name was Nate River. He was someone. What was he? He did not know what to call himself. What do these creatures call themselves? He pushed the irrelevant thought down, focusing on the important one. His father. Where was he? The annoying sound that he'd released earlier came back, and loudly. Something warm and wet trickled from his eyes. What were they doing?

_Crying._

He didn't understand, as much as he tried. He just didn't. All he knew was that he was incomplete. There was no such thing as a child without a father. His body, evidently having enough, stopped without his consent at the mere thought. Looking up at the beautiful creature holding him, he noticed something transparent filling up and running down her bright eyes.

_Tears._

A tear dropped onto his cheek, making him jump slightly, unused to the contact. It trickled down to his mouth and entered. He tasted it on his still acidic tasting tongue. It was… salty. Salty? What was salty? What was salt? He began to cry loudly once again, terrified at not knowing what something as simple as salt was. Why did he cry? Why did his mother cry? Was his father crying, wherever he was? Why was he not with them? Panic filled his system as he was wrenched away from his perfect mother, and fell into a dark abyss.

_Gone._

**…**

Nate River stared at the old portrait on the wall.

At only three years old, he understood much more than any teenager could, but still felt empty. He still remembered the terrifying first few minutes of life, which had actually been an accident. Born two months premature was no joke.

His fingers absentmindedly twisted the piece of white hair hanging slightly beneath his ear as he examined the photograph for what seemed like the millionth time.

A beautiful brown-haired woman sat underneath a tree, a book on her lap. Her emerald green eyes were focusing intently on its pages, appearing as if she hadn't even noticed the photographer. A hand, the photographer's, was giving her a thumbs-up. And that was all he had of his father.

A thumbs-up.

Five digits.

One hand.

Nathanial Adrian River, his father.

According to his mother, he also had gray eyes. According to her, they were exactly the same. According to her, she couldn't tell the difference between the two.

That's all she ever told him of his father.

Those _eyes_ of his. It's always his _eyes._

What was so special about eyes, other than they allowed you to see?

Honestly, sometimes he thought the woman was completely bonkers.

But… he still loved her more than anything.

Which brought up a question that had been nagging his mind since he'd been born.

Was he really human?

He understood the anatomy of humans, he understood how they thought, what they ate…

But he could never understand emotions. As childish as the thought was, he thought emotions were simply ridiculous. Who needed them?

The feeling that gripped his heart out of nowhere and squeezed tightly. Sadness, apparently.

The feeling that sometimes felt as if someone had slapped him in the face. Anger. Shock. Betrayal. Sadness.

The feeling that made him cry as he lied on his bed at night. Sadness. Loneliness. Longing.

Love… he couldn't imagine it as an emotion. He could not feel it, though he'd said it countless times to the few relatives he's ever met.

His mother was the only person he truly loved. She was the only person he could actually feel, and connect with, to some level.

Love was not an emotion, because it often had a different name.

Love was what made him hurt now. Love was all of the different emotions mixed together. Terribly confusing, especially for someone like him.

He could no longer love. Not after that. No one was left that he could possibly love.

Emotions were what made a human, human.

He absolutely refused to allow emotions in to hurt him once again.

He was no longer human.

Just like when he was born, he did not know what he was.

"Nate!" a man's gruff voice called from below.

He snatched the picture frame off the wall and released the picture from its prison, carefully folding it into his pocket.

"Hurry up!" the man's voice yelled once more.

Nate made his way downstairs and walked outside with the man that had been assigned to him.

Inside, he knew he'd never be as close to anyone as he had with his mother.

He'd never be near to someone else again.

He refused to look back as the car drove away, rain pounding on its windows.

_Never._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN): **_Ah, how wonderful. I was totally inspired by **Creative Katherine **(Don't ask how I managed to get a birth scene out of you, because I don't know myself) and am happy with how this one came out. __This may or may not be continued, like I said before. It depends on if I get any more wonderful inspirations for one-shots. Actually, now that I think of it, I probably should've written this with Kat... Oh well! I probably wouldn't have been able to wait that long._

_Review, for I live and breathe your words. It is my lifeblood, and I will eventually die if I go too long without it._

_Thank for all who've read/reviewed in the past! I greatly appreciate it! :D_


	4. Yes

**Yes**

**...  
><strong>

He'd answered Mello's question a long time ago.

Mello had asked him face to face, not once, but twice.

His answer then, was still the same.

_No._

No matter how long Mello had yelled at him, his answer was still the same.

Near glanced around his room for what felt like the millionth time.

Commander Rester had practically forced Near into his bedroom to sleep, though he didn't need to.

Unlike Rester and Gevanni, he wasn't human.

Mello knew this, but had still been quite persistent with his questioning.

It seemed Mello was quite popular in his thoughts today.

He'd received the word that Mello and Matt had died barely an hour ago.

Perhaps Rester had thought he needed time to grieve.

How _ridiculous_.

Near? Grieving? What a joke.

Near had locked his emotions away a long time ago.

He refused to allow himself to grieve. Grieving was for the weak.

Near wouldn't allow himself to be hurt by someone else's death once again.

Near twirled the lock of white hair that hanged below his ear, comfortable with the familiar motion.

Standing up from his spot on the bed, he spotted something that caught his eye.

Nearly impossible to see for the human eye, and in the camera's blind spot, was a small piece of paper.

How long had it been there?

He couldn't remember the last time he'd visited his bedroom, so it could've been there for days, if not weeks.

Grabbing the edge of the ripped piece of paper, he slowly pulled it out of the small space between the headboard and the wall.

Was it a note from Kira?

Had he somehow found his way in?

Glancing down, he was surprised to find something completely different.

It felt as if he'd been slapped in the face.

Without warning, emotions he hadn't felt in ages poured through.

Shock, surprise, sadness, longing...

Along with the emotions came the tempting thought.

Perhaps… he could be human, if only for a little while.

Near bowed his head, rereading the familiar messy handwriting that asked the same question as many years before.

_If I died, would you cry for me?_

The ink grew runny as tears plopped softly on the paper.

_No..._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN): _VERY IMPORTANT:_** _The idea, or theme, was originally made by **biquin**. He/She made the fic in Chinese, and so it was translated long ago into English by **SioLian**. I fell in love with the idea of Mello asking that question, and how Near answered it after he'd died. I did **NOT **create this idea. It is terribly similar to the fic **biquin** originally made, but without dialogue, and in my own way. I don't want to repeat it again. All the rights of the idea, "If I died, would you cry for me?" belong entirely to author **biquin**. If you think I copied him/her, then you're an idiot, because I already explained that he/she had the idea for it first. _

_I could not resist writing it. Seriously, go read the fic translated in English by _**_SioLian_**_. It's amazingly underrated._


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